


Walking on Sunshine

by eureka1



Series: Cabaret [3]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Humor, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn, RPS - Freeform, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 06:35:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8879698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eureka1/pseuds/eureka1
Summary: Gale’s in pain and worried about the future of his relationship with Randy. RPS sequel to ‘Life is a Cabaret’ and ‘Go Get Him, Peter Pan’. Although this one-shot can be read on its own, you’ll probably enjoy it more if you read the other two stories first. Final one-shot in the Cabaret trilogy inspired by the Zarata Events convention in Bilbao, Spain, where Randy and Gale meet again.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Banner by the amazing samcdee.  
> Credit to bibiherz for the incredible video.
> 
> Many, many thanks to my three wonderful betas: Brynn_Jones, TAGSIT, and samcdee. As always, they helped improve this story immeasurably.
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a fictional story for entertainment purposes. I am not claiming that the main characters are in any kind of relationship or that this story is a reflection of their friendship.
> 
> Dedication: Soirsagrey, this one’s for you. Here’s hoping it makes you laugh and speeds your healing and recovery.

  


 

On that Friday night in mid-September, Gale rushed from the airport to join the in-progress activity at a sculpture museum in Bilbao, Spain. Upon arrival, though, he ended up feeling almost like a third wheel - this in spite of the fans hastening toward him as he walked into the room in which everyone had congregated. His petulant mood was exacerbated by the cluster of admirers surrounding his undeclared partner; that crush hadn’t been noticeably diminished by his arrival, everyone clearly having fallen under the spell of Randy’s sunshiny smile - just as they always did. Even the luminous welcoming smile Randy beamed in his direction didn’t do much to ameliorate Gale’s bad mood.

 

If he hadn’t been so out of sorts, Gale would have snorted at his own foolishness. Since when did he crave attention from fans or mind sharing the spotlight with Randy? That warm September night, nevertheless, his emotions were all over the place. For the first week after Randy had left some of his clothes at Gale’s house in Los Angeles - before heading south to San Diego for the next stop on the Cabaret tour - Gale had been elated, confident that their relationship was progressing. As more time had passed and the Bilbao convention had loomed ever nearer, however, he’d begun to fret. Would Randy be willing to commit to a relationship, one they didn’t hide from friends, family, fans, or anyone else? Gale had worked himself into such a stew over how Randy would react that he’d been exhausted and inattentive when tinkering with his motorcycle shortly before his departure for Spain. He hadn’t succeeded in repairing his machine, but he had somehow contrived to injure himself, with fluid spraying onto, and rather severely burning, his arm.

 

Now, in an effort to distract himself from his emotional turmoil and physical pain, he was indulging in a fit of pique about whom the fans at the convention adored more. Gale couldn’t suppress the flash of jealousy he felt toward his Sunshine. As annoying as the wackier supporters could be, they were still his. Zarata Events had organized this event around Gale for years, inviting Randy to attend because the fans always swooned over ‘Gandy’, even if they’d resigned themselves to the fact that Gale and Randy weren’t a couple in real life. 

 

Gale momentarily lost track of his surroundings - as he usually did when he considered ‘Gandy’. Why hadn’t CowLip provided better closure for Brian and Justin? That farce of a finale had left the fans hanging, their hearts almost ceasing to beat from dismay. Small wonder then that the fans were still up in arms eleven years later when, instead of being reunited with Justin, Brian had been depicted as alone, vulnerable, and lonely in that last scene, no matter how insouciant and untroubled he’d attempted to appear. Months, presumably, had elapsed in the last few minutes of the show - Justin having departed for New York, never to be heard from again, and Brian seemingly reverting to an ageless Peter Pan club boy.

 

The only main characters who hadn’t been coupled off at the end of the show were Brian and Justin, one onscreen and the other somewhere in New York City. Regardless of the bizarre pairing of Emmett with Calvin, the flaming queen had nonetheless been with someone. All that would have been needed to provide satisfying closure for ‘Britin’ was a simple fix - Justin appearing at Babylon on the night the club reopened, exchanging a heart-stopping kiss with Brian, and then the two of them dancing the night away. It would also have silenced all the protests, ranging from a mild ‘Sunshine wouldn’t have missed the reopening’ to an aggressive ‘Fuck, no! Justin would never have abandoned Brian! He’d be there for his man and his community, come hell or high water.’

 

If that fairy-tale ending had come to fruition for ‘Britin’, the advocates for ‘Gandy’ might not have been quite so obsessive and stalkerish and would possibly have allowed the two actors some breathing space. Following the end of ‘Queer as Folk’, Gale and Randy had needed time with each other away from the limelight but, alas, that had never happened. In their assiduous efforts to avoid fans and entertainment newshounds, they’d ended up on opposite coasts of the United States, where they’d independently pursued their acting careers. Their own dream of ‘Gandy’ had faltered and almost petered out.

 

Gale shook his head slightly, bringing himself back to the present and the fans who were bearing down on him. He nearly groaned in horror when he saw who was at the forefront of the onrushing horde. Had he really just been whingeing to himself about these nutjobs belonging to him?

 

That damned sharp-tongued blonde who followed him everywhere immediately latched onto his arm - the one that was bandaged to provide a buffer for the burn. “Gale, Honey, what happened?” ole Beady Eyes gasped in horror.

 

Gale couldn’t respond as agony radiated up his arm and throughout his body. “Uurgh,” he grunted, not daring to try and pull free for fear of increasing the pain.

 

Two other women, presumably Beady Eyes’ cohorts, had hurried over to greet Gale with their friend. One of them had a hefty bosom which had drifted south toward her navel. The other one had a more than ample rear end, which jiggled from side to side as she wobble-raced toward Gale, arriving almost a full minute behind her friends.

 

Waddle Butt swiveled her derriere to the left, dislodging Beady Eyes and almost sending her skidding across the floor, before wrapping her hands tightly around Gale’s arm. “Let me kiss that better, Sweetie!” she exclaimed, and began raining kisses all over the bandages, squeezing his arm more and more tightly all the while.

 

Gale blacked out from the intense burst of fiery agony. When he came to, he was on the floor, his head cradled against Sagging Tits’ capacious bosom. That meant his head was actually resting in her lap, pillowed on part of her bust, while she bent over him, practically smothering Gale with the rest of her overflowing bosom. He almost blacked out all over again - from fright this time - when she crooned, “I’ll just take you back to my room and take tender loving care of you all night, Gale, my one true love.”

 

The mountainous breasts made it difficult for him to catch a glimpse of Randy, who was standing in front of Gale and the Terrible Trio with his legs crossed and arms wrapped around his stomach - laughing so hard it looked like he was going to piss himself. Although the expression on his face indicated he was torn between sympathy and hilarity, Randy was obviously having trouble stemming his hysteria. Many of their fans seemed to be in the same predicament.

 

Randy finally crouched down next to Gale and, bracing one shoulder under Gale’s good arm, helped the brunet get to his feet. Speaking at a normal volume for the benefit of the fans, Randy chided, “Gale, it appears your burn is much worse than you stated in the message you sent me before you departed from Los Angeles.”

 

Gale appreciated the heads-up that Randy had filled the fans in regarding the nature of his injury. Given his emotional state and ensuing fatigue, it really hadn’t been very smart for Gale to work on his motorcycle just prior to the Spain fanmeet. The doctors feared his second-degree burn might have been chemically induced because of the liquid which had sprayed onto his arm. He therefore had to be particularly careful to keep it clean and thoroughly covered in bandages. The least touch tended to make it pound unbearably. The flight from Los Angeles to Barcelona, where he’d connected to Bilbao, had been a nightmare, made barely tolerable by the meds he’d taken at home before catching a taxi to the airport. He’d hardly slept at all, worried that someone would jostle his arm, unable to make himself sufficiently comfortable, even in the luxurious first-class cabin. The overly-solicitous redheaded steward hadn’t helped, constantly appearing to ask what he could to for Mr. Harold, tittering the entire time like a demented clown.

 

Gale refocused on his current surroundings and staggered slightly from fatigue and pain, cradling his right arm in his left hand. Damn. He hated to ask for help in front of everyone, but the relentless throbbing was becoming too much to bear. “Could you adjust the sling for me so that it supports my arm better, Randy?” he implored.

 

A chorus of voices inundated Gale and Randy before Randy could move to assist Gale.

 

“Lemme kiss it all better, Gale! Big Butt doesn’t have the magical lips that I do.”

 

“I’m gonna faint! I touched Gale’s skin!”

 

*hehehe* “I touched something better than his arm.”

 

“Make way! He just looked right at me. It’s me Gale wants to help him, not Randy.”

 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Randy’s well-trained voice quieted the multitude, some of whom were trying to push closer to Gale while others strove to hinder their progress and spare Gale and Randy from dealing with such obnoxious, overbearing fans. “Why don’t you let me assist Gale and then, after we get back to the convention center, you can take turns catering to his every whim?”

 

That seemed to satisfy even the Terrible Twittering Trio, who backed away and let Randy adjust Gale’s sling. As she reluctantly moved away a short distance, Sagging Tits could be heard staking her claim, “I get to put Gale to bed.”

 

While rearranging the sling, Randy giggled into Gale’s ear, causing the fine hairs on Gale’s neck to stand on end and his cock to swell. That giggle was such an aphrodisiac, even when Gale would have sworn the agony pulsating from his arm would prevent him from becoming aroused. “Easy, Big Guy,” Randy murmured, “I’ll keep the rabid fans away tonight, but we still need to get through the evening photo session.”

 

 

At the convention center, Gale still couldn’t snap out of the funk he’d been in since well before he burned his arm. His woes had been compounded upon arrival in Bilbao when he’d learned that the airline had sent his luggage to the wrong destination. He couldn’t blame anyone except himself, though, for putting his meds in his suitcase instead of in his carry-on.

 

With his head pounding and arm throbbing, Gale wanted to push away the overly-solicitous fans whose attention he’d briefly coveted while they were at the museum. Sagging Tits helped Gale sit down. Waddle Butt scurried over with a glass of water. Beady Eyes grabbed his right foot, removed the shoe, and began a painful massage, digging far too deeply into his instep. What the fuck? It was his arm that was injured, not his foot.

 

Once the photo op started, the Tempestuous Trio begrudgingly moved away, allowing the other fans to take turns posing for photos with Gale.

 

Gale, who was getting progressively woozier from the pain, nevertheless felt his blood boil when he glanced over to where Randy was posing for photos with more of their admirers. He couldn’t believe it - an infatuated, skinny man with orange-streaked brown hair was down on bended knee in front of Randy, tightly grasping Randy’s right hand, pretending to propose marriage. Gale grumbled to himself that it had better be a pretense; Randy belonged to Gale, not some random devotee in torn jeans with a weird cowlick sticking out from the nape of his neck. To make it all worse, Randy was beaming down at the importunate sod, seemingly about to respond with a rousing ‘Yes!’ when the twit popped the question.

 

It wasn’t that Gale wanted to propose marriage to Randy, much less get married. He did, however, yearn for everyone to know that they were more than friends, that they were committed to each other. Ever since he’d begun playing Brian Kinney in ‘Queer as Folk’, he’d lobbied hard for LGBT rights, and he’d been overjoyed when gay marriage had finally been legalized in the United States more than a year earlier. Maybe, someday, that would even be the right option for him and Randy.

 

That mockery of a marriage proposal and all the constant flashes of light from various cameras gave Gale such a fierce headache that he almost whimpered in relief when the photo op ended. Finally finished with his convention obligations for the night, he made his way toward his room, grumpily fending off all offers of assistance. To Randy, who was purposely lagging behind Gale, the brunet seemed to stagger as if he’d been on a three-day bender, almost sprawling face first onto the carpet a couple of times. He gratefully nodded at the fans who sidetracked the Turbulent Triad by claiming Gale had headed down a different corridor, allowing the brunet to make his escape.

 

Once they were out of sight of any other guests, Randy moved up next to Gale, ignoring the taller man’s feeble efforts to push him away and his sullen, “Go way. Don’t need you. Don’t want you.” It was so patently untrue that Randy had to hide a grin while wrapping an arm around Gale’s waist.

 

A bit later, Gale was reclining on the bed in Randy’s suite, his head against Randy’s chest, sipping from a tumbler filled with Beam. “Alright, maybe I do like having you around - at least as long as you come with alcohol,” he sleepily mumbled.

 

A damnably adorable giggle and a sunshiny grin greeted that pronouncement. “I come with or without alcohol,” Randy teased, earning a groan from Gale for his pitiful pun.

 

Carding his fingers through Gale’s hair, Randy softly sang  [ I could stay awake just to hear you breathing ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ss0kFNUP4P4) , lulling the brunet to sleep. Gale didn’t catch Randy’s whispered, “I truly don’t want to miss another moment with you,” when the song tapered off. If he’d still been awake, he would have been heartened to hear that Randy reciprocated his love and would have started off the next day in much better spirits.

 

 

When lunchtime finally rolled around on Saturday, Gale was feeling even more frazzled than he had been the night before. The brunet was well aware that Randy was pissed off at him, since he’d abandoned Gale to fend for himself that morning. During the question and answer panel, though, the ever-cheerful Sunshine - How could anyone smile that much, dammit? - hadn’t let on that anything was wrong, fielding most of the questions from the attendees. Gale, who’d occasionally had to chime in with a few words, had found it increasingly difficult to concentrate, the clicking and flashing from various cameras once more particularly irritating him. Fortunately, most of the fans had set aside their cameras until the next photo opportunity once he’d asked them to do so. 

 

Gale let out a groan as he unglued himself from his stool at the front of the room, listing slightly to the right as he stood. Randy had already been hustled toward the lunch buffet, most of their other admirers scurrying along behind him, and Gale was grateful for a brief respite to stretch his aching limbs. Taking into account his less than stellar start to the day, it really wasn’t surprising that he felt even more like the walking wounded than he had after deplaning in Bilbao. 

 

First, even though he’d been just where he wanted to be - securely ensconced in his lover’s arms - he’d snarled at Randy after he’d awakened that morning. He’d known that taking out his pain and frustration on his lover was the wrong way to react, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself. Snatching his clothing from the chair where Randy had placed it, he’d stomped off to his room, slamming the door between their suites in Randy’s face when he tried to follow Gale. Of course, his attempts to one-handedly wash the grime from the preceding day off his body hadn’t been particularly effective. Still feeling like he was covered in a layer of travel muck, Gale had then stubbed the big toe of his right foot against the footboard of the bed, kicking at it in frustration when he remembered he didn’t have any clothing to change into - it was stuck in London, or maybe Timbuktu, for all he knew. He’d cursed up a storm while jumping around like a jackrabbit on speed before delivering the coup de grâce. After pulling on the clothes he’d been wearing Friday, he’d caught both his boxers and a strip of very sensitive flesh in the zipper as he attempted to fasten his jeans. He’d let out a high-pitched squeal worthy of a teenaged girl and had screeched for Randy, who hadn’t appeared to soothe or cajole the ill-tempered Gale into a better frame of mind.

 

Gale’s efforts to find some kind of cream to apply to his latest injury hadn’t met with any success - and he hadn’t been about to call down to the front desk and explain why he needed ointment - so he’d finally given up and had hobbled out of his suite to join the attendees for the scheduled breakfast event. That hadn’t been so bad since Randy had saved a seat at his table, and most everyone had been too busy scarfing down food to bombard him with questions.

 

The ubiquitous Beady Eyes jolted Gale back to the present when she sidled up next to him and dug her elbow into his side, cooing “Yoo-hoo, Gale, Hoooney, come with me. You’re at our lunch table.”

 

Wasn’t there some way he could escape this nightmare? Gale speculated as he reluctantly slid into the chair ole Sharp-Tongued Beady Eyes had pulled out for him. Sharp Tongue was clearly planning to sit to his left, and Waddle Butt had already claimed the chair to his right, her rear end overflowing the confines of the seat. Across the table, Sagging Tits waved at him, her excessive bosom resting on the table and hiding her plate and cutlery. Gale scanned the room for Randy, hoping his sometime-blond would rescue him from the Terrible Triumvirate.

 

Well, fuck. His grinning lover had settled in at a table on the other side of the room, right next to Mr. Marriage Proposal, who was showing Randy something cupped in the palm of his hand. Gale growled - yes, actually growled - when scintillating light sparkled off the object and pierced his aching head. Before he could stand up, march over to Randy’s table, and yank away the offensive item - was that a ring? - Waddle Butt slapped a lemon-scented hand to his forehead and murmured, “This will make you feel better, Big Boy.”

 

Gale moaned to himself as runnels of water skidded down his face and plunked onto his lap, dampening the crotch of his jeans. Ms. Butt had apparently dunked her hand in the finger bowl and scooped up a fistful of water before dousing Gale with it. As he stared at the Waddling Wonder in disbelief, she beamed at Gale, heavily patted his burned arm, and said, “There, now. All better, right, Big Boy?”

 

Gale would have liked to dump Big Butt onto the floor. While Waddles flailed around on the floor, he imagined donning his Brian Kinney persona - sauntering over to Randy’s table, delivering a scathing setdown to the Marriage-Minded Moron, grabbing his little twat by the ear, and dragging him to his room so that Randy could ravish him thoroughly. The little shit hadn’t even noticed Gale’s distress because he was so busy examining that shiny object. If it turned out to be a ring and the fucker accepted it - even in jest - Gale was going to strangle the boy.

 

“Oh, dear, Emily, you’ve gotten our Gale all wet,” Beady Eyes cackled as she pressed her napkin against Gale’s groin to dry him off. Hastily stifled snickers resounded from around the table as Gale tried to back away from her ministrations. He really feared for a second that Tits was going to leap across the table and attempt to sop up the moisture with her breasts but, fortunately, she subsided back into her seat when the man next to her - probably in response to Gale’s panicked look - placed a hand on her arm and addressed a comment to her. That completely distracted Tits, since the raven-haired young man was quite handsome and she was probably starved for male attention. Restraining a chuckle, Gale noted that he definitely owed a favor to the guy, who was tilting back dangerously far in his chair in an effort to escape that rapacious bosom.

 

Gale had no idea what kind of food was served for lunch since he had very little appetite and just pushed the food around on his plate. All he really wanted was some TLC from Randy and either some good drugs or booze to ease the pounding in his head, arm, and big toe. He hoped Randy would take care of the throbbing in his groin, now that he’d finally recovered from the painful zipper incident.

 

While they were eating, one of the women at the table - amazingly, not one of the Tenacious Triplets - asked Gale his opinion of a reboot of ‘Queer as Folk’. “It’s too late,” Gale confessed reluctantly, “with eleven years having elapsed since the end of the show.” He really hated to respond negatively and disappoint the fans, but each additional year decreased the likelihood of the show being resurrected. He couldn’t imagine a better scenario on a personal level - he and Randy would be together in the same place, possibly for years - but he doubted it would happen.

 

“Not even a movie?” the curvaceous young redhead questioned, nearly in tears at Gale’s reply.

 

“All of the actors have moved on,” Gale explained as gently as possible. “Plus, to some extent - thanks in part to the show, I like to think - things have improved for the LGBT population. Marriage equality has finally been achieved in the United States. Heck,” he added with a sweet smile, “it’s no longer that uncommon for two gays to dance at their high school prom.”

 

Everyone’s heads swiveled toward Randy’s table before they again looked at Gale with tears in their eyes as they recalled the season one finale. “My heart almost stopped beating at the end of that episode,” a woman with a strong Slavic accent commented, “and I immediately had to insert the first DVD for season two to find out whether Justin would be all right.”

 

“You’re lucky you could move on to the next season right away,” Beady Eyes whispered hoarsely. “Those of us who were watching when the show aired didn’t know whether Justin would live through the bashing. Waiting nearly a year for the first episode of the second season was horrible.” She sniffled and added, “For months, we weren’t even sure if the show would be renewed for a second season. Can you imagine never knowing if Sunshine lived or died?”

 

Nods and murmurs of shocked assent came from around their table as well as neighboring tables, where people had stopped conversing so they could hear what Gale had to say. 

 

Gale was surprised to find himself empathizing with his beady-eyed stalker. In an effort to lighten the somber mood, he chuckled and commented, “You should have seen me trying to learn the moves to that swing dance. I was a right klutz most of the time and despaired of ever getting the steps down.”

 

“Well, you must be a better dancer than Brian Kinney,” the redhead chimed in, “I swear that except for the prom, he barely knew how to shuffle around the dance floor. If he hadn’t had Sunshine to grind against, he would have looked really bad.” Everyone burst out laughing as they weighed in on how Brian really couldn’t dance and speculated about how he must have spent hours preparing for the prom so that he could surprise Justin.

 

“Gale,” the woman with the Slavic inflection tried again, “why couldn’t there be a movie? I just discovered ‘Folk’ a year ago, and it’s so relevant in my country. With gays hardly having any protection and frequently persecuted if they do declare their sexuality, shows like ‘Queer as Folk’ bring hope and pride in their identities.”

 

“Ron and Dan floated the idea of a reboot or a movie for the first five years after the finale, but the Showtime execs insisted there wasn’t a broad enough market,” Gale elucidated, “and without the network behind it, all their expectations came to nothing. And now, like I said, it’s just too late, with almost all of us middle-aged fogeys, no longer the studs we were in our thirties.”

 

“Gale, you’re so silly,” Sharp Tongue tittered, “you’ve only gotten more desirable over the years. Ain’t that right, gals?” she queried the table, neglecting to remember that one of them was a gent, not a gal.

 

A chorus of agreement came from everyone at and near their table, with one woman loudly declaiming, “Such a dreamboat . . . makes me wanna take him home and never let him out of my bed.” That comment elicited more assenting murmurs from around the room.

 

Beady Eyes’ latest sally wiped away Gale’s momentary flicker of empathy for the woman. He flushed under his adherents’ lascivious appraisal as they looked him up and down, licking their lips, with Big Butt wiping away a line of drool that had started to trickle down her chin. Even the dark-haired dude, whose name Gale had learned was Jorge, was inspecting Gale like a prime cut of beef at the butcher shop. Once more he found himself wishing he really were Brian Kinney, who would simply preen and flaunt himself in response to their adulation.

 

Gale glanced at the clock on the wall behind Randy’s table, grateful to note that it was almost time for the afternoon panel to begin so that he could escape this enervating, embarrassing inquisition. He had not, of course, also been checking up on Randy to ensure he hadn’t eloped with the jackass proposer. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll rejoin you in the Blue Room in a few minutes,” Gale announced as he stood up and hastened away from his fans.

 

 

“Psst! C’mon, if we’re quick we can get into the men’s room while Gale’s still there!” While keeping her eyes peeled for interfering busybodies, Ms. Sharp Tongue motioned to her friends, Ms. Waddle Butt and Ms. Sagging Tits, to hurry up. It was getting really difficult to evade Gale’s protective fans, who kept trying to bar them from getting close to their idol. One of the those harridans had even had the temerity to lecture her that she should be satisfied with sitting next to Gale during lunch, preventing her from immediately following after Gale when he left the table. Megan huffed derisively - she’d paid through the teeth to attend this convention, and she was going to get her money’s worth. Gale Harold was public property, dammit!

 

Gale approached the men’s room with caution since, by this stage of his career, he was fully aware that the more obsessive female fans didn’t think ‘men only’ applied to them. After opening the door, he exhaled in relief that there was nary an overweening beady eye, fat behind, or humongous tit lurking at the urinals or in one of the stalls. He was sure no one else would consider sitting on a toilet in a public restroom relaxing, but it was just about the only place Gale could get a respite from the most ardent admirers once a convention was underway.

 

He pushed open the door to one of the stalls and was just about to turn around and lock it when he was shoved forward, almost knocking his head against the tile behind the john. “What the heck?” Gale grumbled in consternation.

 

“Whoa there, Stud,” a husky voice warned as two arms reached around Gale and pulled him back so that he was held in a snug embrace.

 

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Gale grunted as he tried to elbow his assailant in the ribs.

 

“Easy, Big Guy, it’s Jorge,” the man rumbled, “I always suspected you liked men and, after I saw you leering at me during lunch, I figured I’d catch up with you for a little slap and tickle before the next session.”

 

“I wasn’t leering at you, Jackass!” Gale gasped as he struggled to free himself to no avail, his injured arm hampering his movement.

 

Gale thought it must be his wobbly condition that made him imagine he heard Randy’s voice declaring, “It’s the perfect shade of azure blue, Andrew.” But, then, just before Jorge’s weight was hefted away from Gale, he listened to that same tenor voice angrily accuse, “What the fuck are you up to, you fucking prick!”

 

Gale slid down to the floor, legs splayed out in front of himself, as someone worriedly inquired, “Are you okay, Mr. Harold?”

 

Gale tilted his head backward, “Who . . .” he began when he realized it was Mr. Marriage Proposal who had squatted down next to him and was frowning in concern.

 

“Name’s Andrew,” the man offered, “can I help you stand up?”

 

“He’s taken,” Gale replied, causing Andrew’s brow to furrow even more.

 

“I think you need medical attention, Mr. Harold,” the man murmured, standing up as if he were going to exit the restroom in search of assistance.

 

Gale’s hand shot out and latched onto Andrew’s arm, “I said, he’s taken,” the brunet repeated in a sharp tone.

 

Just then, Randy burst into the bathroom, giggling hysterically. “That scumbag doesn’t stand a chance,” he got out between gusts of laughter. “I ran into the Terrible Trio a few steps down the corridor, and I’d no more than mentioned that the slimeball had assaulted someone in the men’s room when old Beady Eyes hauled off with an amazing karate kick and nailed him in the nuts. The dude fell down to the ground, and she started screaming, ‘He’s mine! All mine!’ while kicking him some more. Then her cohorts began stomping up and down on him in their three-inch stilettoes, treating him like a pincushion.”

 

“Randy!” Andrew tried to get the man’s attention. “Randy!” he yelled louder, “I think Mr. Harold may be seriously injured.”

 

“What?!” Randy tried to squeeze into the stall next to Andrew but, even though they were both slender men, there wasn’t enough space, especially since - with Gale facing the toilet and his legs forming a vee on either side - they had to be careful not to push Gale’s crotch up against the bowl. Andrew turned sideways, shuffled a couple of steps toward the wall behind the toilet, and flattened himself against the side of the stall so that Randy could crouch down next to Gale. “Are you okay, Gale?” Randy demanded as he ran his hands down the taller man’s arms.

 

“You’re taken, Randy,” Gale insisted once Randy was at eye level. “Mr. Marriage Proposal can’t have you.”

 

Andrew’s eyes widened as he examined both men, noting the tenderness in the way Randy brushed the hair back from Gale’s forehead and the way Gale’s eyes lit up as he looked at Randy. 

 

“Um, I’ll just make sure no one comes in,” he mumbled as he edged around Randy.

 

“Hang on a second, Andrew,” Randy urged, “let me introduce you to Gale.” Ignoring the glare Gale directed at him, Randy explained, “Andrew was practicing that proposal of marriage for his girlfriend, Vanessa.”

 

Andrew really wanted to flee the bathroom but, at Gale’s skeptical stare, he confirmed, “Yeah, Van, she’s really keen on Randy, but she’s laid up with bronchitis and couldn’t come to the convention, so I swiped her tickets and flew over here without telling her. See, I figured there was no way Van would refuse me if I came back with a photo of me proposing to Randy.” Andrew gulped before concluding, “And y . . . your guy was so sweet about the whole proposal, but it was all pretend!”

 

“And the ring?” Gale queried, his suspicions not yet completely allayed.

 

Andrew groaned, “Geez, Mr. Harold, she has blue eyes, just like Randy, so I wanted to show him the ring I picked out at García Miguélez Jewelers in downtown Bilbao. It’s a special engagement ring for my girl since she couldn’t be here.”

 

“Fuck,” Gale stated wearily, as he rested his head against the toilet seat, “this convention has gone balls up from the get-go.” He rolled his head to the side and said, “I’m sorry, Andrew, I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.”

 

“Eh, no worries,” Andrew said, grinning good-naturedly, “I’d have been just as daft about it if I’d seen some stranger proposing to Van. I don’t know how you guys do such a good job of keeping your friendship on the down low; I never suspected a thing.”

 

“Thanks for keeping it quiet, Andrew,” Randy stated with a nod at his new friend, “we’re not ready for anyone to know about us.”

 

“No problem. Glad to give you a hand, man,” Andrew smiled and bumped fists with Randy, before quickly exiting the restroom and keeping watch so that no one else disturbed Gale and Randy.

 

 

During the afternoon panel, Gale felt grouchier than ever. It hadn’t taken all that long for Randy, with Gale’s cooperation, to leverage the taller man off the restroom floor. Once Gale had reassured Randy that Jorge hadn’t hurt him, Randy had exited the bathroom first, leaving Gale to follow along behind. The taller man had barely made it to the Blue Room before resumption of the question and answer session.

 

Gale knew he should be grateful for the way Randy was fielding all the questions with which their fans bombarded them, but Randy’s glowing smile made him feel even more cantankerous. Randy indiscriminately directed that sunshiny beam at everyone, no matter how pushy the person or intrusive the query. Trusting Randy to handle their admirers with his usual aplomb, he didn’t pay much attention until, all of a sudden, he heard someone ask, “Is Gale a good kisser, Randy?”

 

Randy blushed, his face turning tomato red, and appeared unusually flustered, so Gale stepped in. “Randy and I have never kissed,” he explained to sighs of disappointment from the audience. “When you’re acting, you’re just trying to provide the best shot for the cameraman; there’s nothing sexy or arousing about it.”

 

Another fan persisted, “But surely, you felt something . . . I mean, when I watch the two of you on screen, I practically just melt.”

 

Almost everyone in the room nodded in agreement, another fan piping up, “We all know you guys were just playing roles, that you aren’t the characters you portrayed in ‘Folk’. I’ve seen pretty much every movie, series, or play that either of you has starred in, however, and there’s just never been a conflagration like you set off in ‘Queer as Folk’. You shared such palpable chemistry - it sizzled off the screen. So it just seems like you must have felt something for each other.”

 

Murmurs of assent came from every corner of the room as Gale gritted his teeth and vehemently declared, “I’m really glad that, as a straight man, I could play a gay character so believably, but it was only an act. Randy and I are good friends, but nothing more than that. I hope you can all respect that and not ask any other questions about us being romantically involved.”

 

When no one said anything for a few minutes, Randy beamed another one of his famous smiles at the audience and cajoled, “C’mon, folks, there must be something else you want to know besides whether Gale is a good kisser.” 

 

A young woman stood up and, after glancing at a still-glowering Gale, hesitantly asked, “How is it you never seem to age, Randy? Did you get hold of the secret formula for Brian Kinney’s French anti-aging cream? I mean, in one of the Facebook groups, someone posted a picture of you as the King of Babylon fifteen years ago side by side with you as the Emcee in ‘Cabaret’ this year. You look exactly the same.”

 

Randy chuckled and said he’d tweet the formula out to everyone who wanted it. The group was in much better spirits when they adjourned for dinner, with Randy promising to pose for more photos immediately after the meal and saying how sad he was that he wouldn’t have the chance to talk more with everyone the next day. They all assumed he’d be flying to Arizona on Sunday for the next stop on the Cabaret tour, so they queued up for more photos right after the meal, lingering to chat with Randy as long as possible.

 

 

“Fucking idiot!” Gale castigated himself that night as he collapsed into the armchair in the lounge area of his hotel suite, exhausted and in pain. His misery wasn’t just physical but also emotional. He’d been determined, come hell or high water that, if any of the participants at the convention asked about his sexuality or - if the opportunity presented itself - he’d let everyone know he was bisexual. He would then firmly but politely request that the matter not be discussed further. But, when that question about whether he was a good kisser had been posed to Randy, he’d wimped out, spewing his timeworn answer about being straight. Then he’d babbled to his dinner companions about how he fully supported the LGBT community . . . yadda, yadda, yadda.

 

What the fuck was wrong with him? Sure, he’d been in pain, and there’d been that fucked up incident with Jorge, but that shouldn’t have been enough to make him scuttle his own plans to announce his sexuality and hopefully move forward with his and Randy’s relationship.

 

It seemed like the only good thing that had happened that day was his luggage finally catching up to him and being delivered to the hotel in the early evening. Gale had excused himself before dinner and had swallowed some of the pills, although he hadn’t bothered to try and apply more ointment to his arm. The medication unfortunately hadn’t kicked in the way it was supposed to, his arm throbbing just as fiercely as it had at the beginning of the day. Gale hoped he hadn’t scraped it when he’d been trying to fight off that shithead, Jorge.

 

As Gale moodily grouched to himself about another for-shit day, Randy entered through the adjoining door between their suites. He ignored Gale’s complaints about not wanting any help, hauling his lover out of the chair, undressing him, handing him a tumbler full of Beam, and sponging him off - Gale grousing at him the whole time about not getting his burned arm wet. Similar to the previous night, Randy guided Gale to the bed, lying back against pillows he’d stacked in front of the headboard, and letting Gale settle in at his side and drape himself across his chest so he could get some rest.

 

All night long, Randy stayed awake, keeping watch over Gale, soothing him when he started to toss restlessly, ensuring he didn’t roll over onto his burned arm, pressing loving kisses to the top of his head, and singing to him in his reassuring tenor. He wished he knew what to do to ease his man’s pain and began plotting once inspiration finally struck.

 

 

Randy hummed to himself as he sauntered through the sun-drenched streets of old town Bilbao, hunting for the herbal medicine store the concierge had told him about. The hotel employee had assured him that the shop would be open on Sunday since they did much of their business at the weekend. Finally, he espied the storefront, before which a sign displaying a mortar and pestle swayed. He grinned, enjoying the medieval-style identifier that the shop owner had chosen. A bell chimed as he pushed open the door and stepped inside.

 

Randy blinked at the lengthy greeting in Spanish from the middle-aged Chinese man, his own Spanish unfortunately not extending much beyond ‘hola’. “I was told you speak English?” he hesitantly inquired.

 

“Ah, yes, young man, I do,” came the reply. “How can I assist you?”

 

Randy laughed to himself at being called ‘young man’. Whether or not people knew him, they commonly assumed him to be no older than twenty-five. “I’m hoping you have something that will help a friend of mine,” Randy explained. “He burned his arm quite badly, and he’s also been suffering from headaches and exhaustion.”

 

“Did the doctor not prescribe medications to treat his injury?” the herbalist asked.

 

“Yes,” Randy admitted, “he did. My friend couldn’t access his medications for a couple of days; however, now that he’s taking the pills again, they’re not alleviating his pain.

 

A voice speaking Chinese issued from the back of the shop just before an elderly woman pushed aside the beaded divider and stopped next to the man who had been assisting Randy. They engaged in a rapid-fire discussion, which Randy assumed covered the treatment of burns and pain, although he did not understand one word. For some reason, the woman’s eyes danced with merriment whenever she glanced at Randy.

 

“Please excuse us for speaking Cantonese,” the herbalist asked, “but my sister and I wished to confer about the best treatment for your friend’s burns.”

 

When the woman hissed and nodded toward Randy, the herbalist shrugged and gestured for her to speak, while clearly trying to suppress a smile.

 

“Please forgive our rudeness,” the woman begged in fluent, apparently American-accented English. “This is a most unusual coincidence since I was born in Toronto, Mr. Harrison. My family moved here long before my little brother, Chen Li, was born.”

 

“You know who I am?” Randy asked in astonishment. He wasn’t sure why he was so surprised since he encountered fans wherever he went, but this elderly woman recognizing him in an herbal shop in Spain was, nevertheless, an unusual occurrence.

 

“You are quite famous in Bilbao, Mr. Harrison, especially for your role in ‘Queer as Folk’. Before my mother passed away, we used to watch the show together every Saturday night.”

 

“You . . . and your mother,” Randy gasped, as a flush traveled upward until it covered his entire face.

 

“Oh, yes, we both thought you and Mr. Harold were very sexy,” the woman replied. “My mother often said my father should have taken lessons from Justin Taylor and Brian Kinney so that he could better please her in bed.” 

 

“Uh, really,” was all Randy could say. Two fictional gay men instructing a straight man in the art of pleasing a heterosexual woman? Bizarre.

 

“This is awfully similar to that scene where Justin visits the Chinese herbal medicine shop with that pipsqueak friend of Brian’s,” the man excitedly interjected, betraying his own familiarity with ‘Queer as Folk’.

 

Randy choked back a laugh, deciding there was no point in defending Hal’s role as Michael in the show. 

 

“That is very true,” Chen Li’s sister replied. “Now, we can give you a cream made from gotu kola and aloe that should help heal Mr. Harold’s skin. We also recommend a tea of ginger mixed with white willow bark for the pain.”

 

“Wait,” Randy questioned, “How do you know Mr. Harold is the one with the burn?”

 

“Didn’t I just say that you and Mr. Harold are famous in Bilbao?” the woman reproved. “And, Mr. Harold’s injury is THE topic of discussion on all the relevant Facebook pages, what with his participation in the annual convention hosted by Zarata Events.

 

“Okay, then,” a rather dazed Randy stated as the woman pushed a couple of items toward him, “How often should I apply the cream and steep the tea?”

 

“As far as the cream, once a day when you change the bandages,” Mr. Chen explained.

 

“Mr. Harold should drink the tea at least twice a day to ease the pain and speed up healing,” the woman advised.

 

When Randy held the packet of tea up to his nose to try and determine whether it would be palate-pleasing, the woman tittered and said, “Don’t worry, Mr. Harrison, this doesn’t smell like yak shit.”

 

“It’s only Chinese Viagra that reeks like that,” Mr. Chen added.

 

“How much do I owe you?” Randy asked as he reached for his wallet, chuckling as he imagined the expression on Gale’s face when he related this encounter.

 

“Oh, no,” both siblings protested when Randy tried to pay, “It would bring very bad luck to us if we accepted money from you.”

 

When Randy insisted that he wanted to tender some form of payment, the siblings asked him to take a photo with them and autograph some of their tins of tea, saying that would bring them fame and fortune with their clientele. A young man Mr. Chen claimed was his nephew emerged from the back of the shop to snap some photos. Randy then headed toward the waterfront hotel at which he and Gale had booked a suite for the next few days, estimating that their luggage should have been transferred from the convention center by the time he arrived.

 

 

Gale had enjoyed waking up with Randy’s arms wrapped around him for the second day in a row, but the pain from his arm was still making him feel irritable and out of sorts. He’d grouched to Randy that the pain meds were worthless, providing none of the expected relief. His lover’s reminder that this was the last day of the convention, and that they’d have a full day to relax and enjoy themselves before Randy had to depart, had lifted Gale’s spirits a bit.

 

After a farewell kiss from Randy, Gale had headed to breakfast and was surprised to find the meal a congenial experience. Since everyone was enjoying the relaxed atmosphere, they decided not to return to the conference-style seating in the Blue Room. The participants instead arranged the breakfast tables in a circle and tossed comments and questions back and forth, making Gale feel like one of the group rather than being isolated on stage.

 

There was no sign of Jorge, who’d apparently decided it would be wise to vanish and not chance running into Randy or the Terrible Trio again. Maybe the solid beating they’d administered to Jorge had somehow mellowed the threesome because none of those ladies had stalked Gale to the men’s room, claimed a seat at his table during breakfast, or badgered him about his supposed relationship with Randy. Ms. Beady Eyes’ eyeballs were no longer bulging out of their sockets; Ms. Waddle Butt’s derriere looked more slender and shapely; and Ms. Sagging Tits must have purchased an uplifting brassiere since her boobs were no longer down by her belly button. It all made Gale feel like he’d stumbled into an episode of ‘The Twilight Zone’.

 

The bonhomie and good humor amongst the convention attendees put Gale so at ease that, toward the end of the morning when they started talking about bisexuality, he heard himself say, “I’d like to make a personal statement that I’m bisexual. I’ve wanted to publicly declare my identity for some time. I hope you’ll understand, though, that I’m not ready to answer questions about my status or discuss it further.”

 

“Congratulations, Gale,” murmured the angular blond - whom the brunet had heretofore always thought of as either ‘Sharp Tongue’ or ‘Beady Eyes’. “Coming out  _ is _ personal, and it’s up to each of us how we deal with it.”

 

Gale, who was still flabbergasted by the change in the demeanor of his most zealous admirer, nevertheless managed to say a quiet, “Thank you,” in acknowledgement of her support.

 

For the rest of the day, the group shared their opinions about sports, travel, music, and books, razzing each other good-naturedly whenever they reached an impasse, and agreeing to disagree. Gale was actually reluctant to say goodbye to his fans at the end of the day, gladly posing for more photos and even exchanging hugs with Megan, Emily, and Delilah - formerly known to him as Beady Eyes, Waddle Butt, and Sagging Tits. 

 

When he stepped outside the convention center, he felt like he had walked into a wall of humid heat. It didn’t feel any cooler than the forecast high of 32 degrees Celsius. Grumbling, “It’s worse than smoggy Los Angeles,” Gale flagged down a taxi and gave the driver the name of the beachside bungalow Randy had booked for two nights. Gale hoped there’d be some relief from the heat near the ocean. He was concerned about his fair-skinned companion getting burned to a crisp, especially since Monday’s forecast called for a temperature of 40oC, sweltering weather for mid-September.

 

 

That night, Randy steeped the willow bark and ginger mixture in the teapot in their kitchenette while he regaled Gale with the tale of his visit to the herbalist. “And she assured me,” he jested with a wicked grin as he handed the cup to Gale, “that this tea will make you very hard and very firm.”

 

“I’m always hard and firm around you, Twat,” Gale teased in return. Occasionally, he liked to call Randy a ‘Twat’, Brian’s pet name for Justin, just to see what kind of rise he’d get out of Randy. He knew it made Randy crazy to be called Justin, to be identified with or compared to the character he once portrayed - a fictional person with whom Gale’s partner shared only superficial similarities. The ‘Sunshine’ appellation though . . . that inhered to Randy’s disposition and suited him to a T. Gale figured Randy was dreaming if he expected the fans to forgo that nickname.

 

Gale had the same problem with being confined in the Brian box since he wasn’t particularly Brian-esque. But, at the same time, the post-convention euphoria made it easier to accept that he’d probably always be most famous for that role. ‘Queer as Folk’ had made a difference and continued to do so for many individuals, especially those struggling with their sexual identity. And, heck, Gale thought to himself, the show was sexy as hell and a testament to their skill in playing Brian and Justin. So, when  Randy retorted, “Drink the yak shit, Stud,” Gale simply chuckled and raised his teacup in a toast.

 

Randy looked at his lover suspiciously and inquired, “What has you in such a fine mood all of a sudden? You usually wail and moan about conventions - before, during and after.”

 

“I let it all hang out.” Gale stated with a goofy grin, splaying out his legs and good arm, making some of the tea arc out of his cup and splash onto the carpet.

 

“You let it all hang out,” Randy repeated, wondering just what was in that tea, “meaning you unzipped in front of everyone and finally showed them the rest of the goods?”

 

Gale, who’d just taken another swallow of the rather pleasant, slightly anise-flavored tea, did a spit-take and threatened, “It’s you who won’t get to see the goods with that attitude.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Randy nonchalantly replied, moseying over to the armchair and sliding down to sit on the floor between Gale’s legs. He pulled Gale’s right foot onto his lap and began to massage it, gradually moving from the toes to the heel and ankle.

 

“Unnngh,” Gale moaned, “okay, okay. You can see the goods anytime you want . . . Twat.”

 

Randy grinned smugly over his shoulder at the big guy, who had a blissful expression on his face. Giggling, he asked, “What did you ‘let hang out’, Gale?”

 

“Oh, yeah,” Gale opened his eyes a sliver and shrugged, “just that I’m bisexual.”

 

“What?!” Randy gasped, so stunned that he couldn’t say anything else. Gale had been talking about coming out for a couple years, but Randy hadn’t actually thought he was ready to do so, especially since he’d let numerous opportunities escape.

 

“About time, right?” Gale murmured. “I guess most of them suspected - or at least wished it were so - since no one seemed gobsmacked. They were all really understanding that I didn’t want to do more than make an announcement. No one pushed me for details and Megan was especially considerate.

 

“Who?” a baffled Randy questioned, momentarily sidetracked from Gale’s announcement that he’d come out. Randy was really good with both names and faces and couldn’t remember anyone with that name. 

 

“Ole Beady Eyes,” Gale replied with a sly grin.

 

“No way!” Randy responded, twisting around and slapping the back of his right hand against Gale’s chest.

 

“Way,” Gale chuckled, enjoying the flabbergasted look on Randy’s face. He proceeded to tell the younger man about the drastic changes in the Terrible Trio and how he almost regretted that the convention was over.

 

“Huh,” Randy eloquently surmised, “wonder if that’ll last.” With a mischievous wink at Gale as he unzipped the brunet’s jeans, he added, “Can’t blame them for wanting to get into your pants, Stud.”

 

After removing Gale’s jeans and underwear entirely and pushing his t-shirt upward so that he could caress the brunet’s abdomen, Randy buried his nose in Gale’s pubes and inhaled the delicious, somewhat sweaty aroma of his man.

 

Gale’s breath hitched when Randy slowly licked his way along the underside of his shaft before pressing his tongue into the slit at the top. Electric blue eyes danced devilishly as Randy bantered, “This won’t set back your recovery, will it?”

 

“Far more therapeutic than the tea,” Gale growled, reaching down to run his left hand through Randy’s hair. It still struck the brunet as strange that the strands weren’t golden-blond even if they were as silky as usual. “More,” he urged when Randy lifted his head to beam a sunshiny grin at Gale.

 

“Far be it from me to deny an out-and-proud bisexual the medicinal properties of deep-throating,” Randy concurred before swallowing Gale’s cock in one fell swoop.

 

“Fuuuck!” Gale groaned in approbation, thinking that Brian Kinney had been right about a good blowjob being one of the greatest pleasures ever.

 

Randy cupped Gale’s balls in one hand, gently rolling them in the palm of his hand while he circled Gale’s bellybutton with the callused tip of his forefinger. He pulled off Gale’s dick until only the cockhead remained in his mouth, his tongue swirling around the head, and swallowed a few times, the suction making Gale alternately curl and flex his toes in reaction to the sensual gratification.

 

Suddenly, though, Randy released Gale’s dick, letting it slap onto the brunet’s belly with a wet smack, as he sat back on his heels. 

 

“What the fuck?” Gale protested, pupils dilated, gold-and-green-flecked orbs glaring at Randy.

 

“Your tea, Gale,” Randy insisted with a devilish twinkle in his limpid blue eyes, “you need to drink your tea or the pain won’t ease.”

 

“I’m in more pain from fellatio interruptus,” Gale gritted out, “than from that bloody burn. Now get back to it!” he commanded.

 

“Uh-uh-uh, not till you drink your tea,” Randy scolded, wagging his index finger in admonishment, as he began to scoot away from Gale.

 

“Stop! I’ll drink the yak shit!” Gale hastily capitulated, snatching the teacup off the end table and downing the remainder in one go.

 

“Good boy!” Randy teasingly praised before resuming his position in front of Gale and proceeding to worship his cock until Gale spilled down his throat ten minutes later.

 

“Mmm, so good” Gale muttered before offering, “wanna stand up so I can reciprocate?”

 

“My blowjob can wait till tomorrow,” Randy chuckled fondly as Gale’s eyes drifted shut. “C’mon, let me help you to the bed before you’re out for the count.”

 

“Okie-dokie,” Gale slurred out as Randy maneuvered him into the bedroom, where he fell backward onto the bed, his long legs dangling off the end.

 

After quite a bit of tugging and pushing, Randy finally succeeded in getting Gale undressed and his body fully onto the bed. He, too, was more than ready to crash early after two sleepless nights watching over Gale. “Proud of you Gale,” Randy murmured as he spooned Gale’s body, having made sure that his injured arm was braced by a couple of pillows, “telling everyone that you’re bisexual - that was really brave.”

 

The tall, lanky brunet fell deeply asleep with a contented smile on his lips, satisfied that he’d taken the most essential step for their relationship to proceed further.

 

 

As they munched on a breakfast of savory rolls filled with sausage and cheese, fresh fruit, and sweet pastries on their secluded, private terrace the next morning, Gale warned, “You’d better slather on the sunscreen or you’re gonna look like a broiled lobster, Randy.”

 

“I can’t believe it’s going to be 40 degrees Celsius today,” Randy grumbled as he perused the local newspaper. “I’m gonna roast in this clothing.” He eyed Gale askance and commented, “Not that your apparel choices seem any better. Did you also forget to look at the forecast before packing?”

 

“I was so dazed by the pain from the burn that I just threw whatever was handy in my bag. Although I didn’t want to disappoint the fans by canceling on them, it was only the incentive of seeing you that made the pain bearable and got me onto the plane.” Gale admitted.

 

“I wouldn’t have agreed to join this fanmeet between stops on the ‘Cabaret’ tour but for the opportunity for a mini-vacation with you,” Randy acknowledged in return with a huge, blindingly-bright smile.

 

Gale perked up at Randy’s admission but then lamented, “I know it has only been a few weeks since you and the rest of the ‘Cabaret’ troupe departed from the Los Angeles area, but I really miss seeing you every day.” He scowled irritably and continued, “With you staying at my house, it was almost like the old days on the ‘Queer as Folk’ set when we essentially lived together, even though we didn’t take anyone into our confidence.” 

 

A wry expression on his face, Randy commented, “As we know, most of our ‘Folk’ family figured it out pretty quickly and have been rooting for us ever since. In fact, I think it’s time I followed Scott’s advice.”

 

“Scott’s advice?” Gale’s interest was evident in his voice.

 

“I’m ready to acknowledge publicly that we’re partners,” Randy averred. “I can’t let you be the only brave one,” he teased, “but it’s only if that’s still what you want.”

 

“You think I’m going to let you get away, Randolph Clarke Harrison?” Gale queried as he reached out and took Randy’s hand in his own. “I don’t need a ring or a marriage ceremony - I just need you.” He paused for a moment before amending his statement, “And lots of scorching hot sex.”

 

“Would I choose you as my partner without that caveat?” Randy joshed before declaring, “I just want to be with you, Gale - whenever, wherever, for as long as possible. I don’t want to waste any more time.”

 

Happiness radiating from his eyes, Gale squeezed Randy’s hand and leaned over to exchange a lingering kiss with his partner. He then lightened the moment by recommending with a lascivious leer, “Maybe we should think more about how to share the news after we’ve made the temperature rise - yet again.”

 

“Aha!” Randy exclaimed, “it’s our combustibility that’s making the weather so unbearably hot.”

 

“Well,” Gale responded slyly, “Based on your herb-gathering expedition, I don’t think the locals will complain about a scorcher as summer wanes. Many of them seem to get off on the idea of ‘Gandy’ sizzling away.”

 

Randy reached up to run a hand through Gale’s hair, the unruly brunet bedhead his lover sported making him smile. “Sizzling, hmm?” he murmured. “Just what did you have in mind?”

 

“We could have our own private preview of the ‘Gandy’ show,” Gale suggested roguishly, “so you can practice quickly diving in deep.”

 

Randy almost spewed his orange juice all over the table at Gale’s proposition. Once he’d finally stopped laughing, he reminisced, “You were so flustered when you made that remark at the panel a few years ago. . . and you turned even redder and became more inarticulate when you tried to backtrack.”

 

“You’d just fucked my brains out three times that morning,” Gale defended himself, “so it’s no wonder I conflated us with the characters we played.”

 

“We’ve certainly torn up the sheets, on and off screen,” Randy concurred. “Are you truly ready, though, to let the public know about ‘Gandy’?” he questioned, concerned that Gale might not be fully considering the media storm that would ensue.

 

“Not sure I want to be half of a modern day fairytale,” Gale ruefully admitted.

 

“Our fans will be swooning over us for providing a real-life ‘Queer as Folk’ happy-ever-after,” Randy agreed, looking as though he’d just bitten into a lemon.

 

After they’d contemplated the situation in silence for a few minutes, Gale declared, “What the heck. Let’s give them what their ridiculously romantic hearts desire.” He rubbed his hand across his beard and added, “I’m more than ready for us to be out in the open as a couple. No more fan meets for a while, thankfully, so at least I won’t have to deflect questions or answer with, “No comment.”

 

“Once we break the news - however we choose to do it - I won’t be so lucky,” Randy mused, “what with the fans peppering me with all sorts of questions following every performance of ‘Cabaret’. I’m bound to get queries about my relationship with you.”

 

Gale shifted, trying to ease the constriction caused by his jeans. How the hell was he supposed to participate in this important discussion when his horniness was overwhelming his ability to think? He wasn’t sure whether to bless or curse the herbal tea and the ointment, which had eased his pain considerably - much more so than the prescription medications, which he’d ceased taking the night before. In an effort to distract himself from the insistent pressure of his cock against the denim of his jeans, he reached for the coffee carafe.

 

Randy immediately chided, “Uh-uh, no reneging on your agreement to stick to the medicinal tea today as long as I give you three blowjobs.”

 

“Dammit,” Gale mourned, “I should have held out for at least five bjs.”

 

“Well,” Randy drawled, “Maybe you deserve a bonus blow-job for not only outing yourself,” tacking on with a dramatic, horrified shudder, “but also ‘Gandy’.” With that statement, the younger man removed Gale’s jeans and proceeded to lavish more attention on the brunet’s cock.

 

 

Midafternoon, Gale and Randy emerged from their bungalow and meandered along the beach hand in hand, Gale limping slightly but with a smug smile on his face.

 

“Do you think you can concentrate enough to talk about our relationship now?” Randy teased, sporting a very self-satisfied grin of his own. 

 

“Twat,” Gale retorted, tugging Randy toward himself so that they could exchange a kiss. “Mmmhmm,” Gale moaned as his tongue delved inside Randy’s mouth - tasting java with a hint of cinnamon, citrus, and the unique flavor that was Randy.

 

The shorter man, in turn, reveled in the rasp of Gale’s beard against his own stubble, the press of Gale’s lips against his own, and the sensation of his tongue curling around the brunet’s. “Never enough, Gale,” he panted when their lips finally parted, “I’ll never get enough of you.”

 

They both stumbled slightly before regaining their balance. Gale asked rather gloatingly, “Just who is having trouble concentrating?”

 

Randy made a purring sound and conceded, “I always have trouble thinking clearly when you’re around. You’re sex on legs and you damned well know it.” Stepping back, he added, “You’re so much more than that, though. At the risk of sounding ridiculously corny, you’re everything to me.”

 

Gale stared out across the water, not responding right away. Finally, he glanced down at his companion and murmured, “I really needed to hear that, Randy.”

 

“I should have told you sooner,” Randy admitted. “I foolishly kept doubting that we could make a relationship work. I should have known better; even when I hooked up with someone else, it was you I really wanted. Forgive me?” he asked, directing an abashed look toward Gale.

 

“Fuck! There’s nothing to forgive!” exploded from Gale’s mouth. “We both tried other relationships. I just needed to hear that I’m the one for you - just like you’re the one for me.”

 

“There hasn’t been anyone else for years, Gale. Only you.” Randy gladly acknowledged with a grin.

 

Gale couldn’t stop a giggle from escaping. “‘Sunshine’ really is the perfect nickname for you, Randy. You’re going to have to live with that moniker, like it or not.”

 

“Don’t!” Randy begged. “I thought my broken-record protests were finally getting through to the fans.”

 

“No chance . . . unless you lose that smile. And, if you do that,” he threatened, “you won’t have me as a lover for long.” Gale couldn’t maintain a poker face and began to laugh uproariously at Randy’s offended look.

 

“Well, fuck, I guess I’m stuck with ‘Sunshine’,” Randy grumbled, “but only from you.”

 

“Oh, dream on,” Gale guffawed, “the ‘Folk’ fans are going to call you ‘Sunshine’ forever.”

 

Randy let out an exasperated sigh and changed the subject as they strolled further. “Should we tell our friends first that we’re in a relationship - sort of a trial run before we go public?”

 

“If it’s just our friends from the show, that won’t be much of a test . . . Sunshine,” Gale rather unmercifully twitted his lover, “although I’m sure the congratulations will pour in, nonetheless.”

 

“I think even you must have a few friends beyond our ‘Folk’ family,” Randy prodded Gale. “I thought I’d call my friends Nick and Lauren from the Skivvies, message my buddies from ‘New York is Dead’, and tell some of my ‘Cabaret’ castmates.”

 

“I really don’t have a large circle of friends,” Gale commented, “but there are a few pals with whom I’d be willing to share the news.”

 

Randy wanted to kick himself for needling Gale; he knew very well that the brunet was an extremely private person who preferred to maintain close friendships with only a few people outside of their ties to Scott, Peter, Michelle, Robert, Dan, Ron, Thea, Dean, Makyla, and Sharon. They both had contact with other cast and crew from the show, just not as frequently. “Gale . . . ” he began before hesitating, uncertain what he should say.

 

“Randy, it’s okay,” Gale reassured him, “I do have a few friends I want to notify.” Grinning at his onetime-blond partner, he asserted, “I just want us to be together as a couple. That’s all that really matters.”

 

“You’re right,” Randy agreed. “Why don’t we let our friends know within the next week and word can spread from there?”

 

“Our avid admirers are bound to barrage you with questions - they’ll be waiting at the stage door by the time the tour hits Omaha,” Gale estimated. “Are you sure you want to deal with the fans?”

 

“I don’t think you give our followers enough credit,” Randy snorted. “They’ll be quizzing me about our relationship by the time we reach Tucson, if not sooner.”

 

“Wanna bet?” Gale challenged.

 

“What do I get if I win?” Randy asked, a glint of interest in his eyes.

 

“You mentioned an itch you’d like me to satisfy,” Gale replied, his lips curving upward.

 

“That is tempting,” Randy conceded. “And if you win?”

 

“I get to satisfy that urge of yours.” Gale burst out laughing, with Randy soon joining him.

 

When he finally stopped giggling, Randy commented, “Guess I don’t need to hedge my bet. I was going to delay telling my friends to be sure you’d win.”

 

Gale’s arm looped around Randy’s shoulders and he pulled the younger man closer to his body. “Topping you is always a delight,” he whispered into Randy’s ear, “and I’m already looking forward to settling our bet.”

 

“Mmm,” Randy replied, “I am, too. I’m glad you’re willing to mix things up occasionally.”

 

“For you, anytime,” Gale vowed in a husky voice, “as long as I’m usually on the receiving end.”

 

 

The sun was setting as they finally headed away from the water toward their bungalow. “Hold on,” Randy requested, turning to snap a few pictures of sand, sea, and their footprints, using his cellphone.

  
  


“I wish you didn’t have to fly back to the States tomorrow,” Gale mumbled as he nuzzled Randy’s hair.

 

“This vacation has been way too short,” Randy concurred.

 

Gale lamented, “I thought we’d get to spend December together.”

 

“We’ll be together for two weeks at the end of November, and I’ll be at your front door on the eighth of December,” Randy reminded his lover, cajoling him out of his pensive mood.

 

“Our house,” Gale asserted firmly. “After all, that’s where your drawers have taken up residence in my drawers.”

 

“Alright,” Randy giggled in concession as Gale snaked a hand underneath the waistband of his jeans, “my drawers certainly do like to be in close contact with yours.

 

“Guess I’ll be seeing a lot of you in your drawers when you perform with the Skivvies just before Christmas,” Gale observed.

 

“I can’t believe you haven’t met Lauren and Nick yet,” Randy commented. “Be prepared for them to razz you unmercifully.

 

“Oh? I think they’re more likely to regale me with tall tales about you.” Gale teased. “Not, mind you, that anything’s likely to make you tall.”

 

Randy couldn’t keep from chuckling at the juvenile humor but retaliated by palming his cock through his pants and boasting, “I’m plenty ‘tall’ where it counts.”

 

“Even there, you’re a shorty,” Gale claimed with a gleeful, rascally grin, “at least compared to me.”

 

“Short!” Randy squawked, “I’ll show you short!”

 

“Please do,” Gale begged, squeezing one juicy butt cheek and joking, “What’s going on? I can’t find any drawers.”

 

“They have a habit of vanishing whenever I’m around you,” Randy noted, “so I didn’t bother to put any on.”

 

“Let’s go fuck the night away,” Gale suggested, dashing into the the bungalow with Randy on his heels.

 

 

In the wee hours of Tuesday morning, Randy double-checked that he had everything as he waited for the taxi to arrive. “Damn, my cock is tender,” he griped as he reached down to adjust it in his underwear.

 

“What about my ass?” Gale moaned. “Even first-class seating is going to be bloody uncomfortable.”

 

“You’re the one who made that brilliant proposal that we should fuck ourselves silly,” Randy opined virtuously.

 

Gale grunted, “Yeah, like such a notion would never occur to you . . .”

 

“All your fault,” Randy claimed, sticking his tongue out. “It was obviously necessary to discredit your assertion about me being ‘short’.”

 

“Tell me again why you have to take this insanely early flight,” Gale grumbled as Randy’s taxi pulled up to the bungalow.

 

Patiently, Randy reiterated - for at least the fourth time - “I promised to be in Tempe for interviews tomorrow. Plus, many of the fans are attending specifically to see me perform, and I can’t disappoint them - especially this cool, blue-haired lady I met a couple times in San Francisco. She said she’d try and catch the show again in Tempe.”

 

“Fuck it all. I know you’re too conscientious to ignore your obligations. But, I wish . . .” Gale trailed off without completing his thought.

 

“Me, too,” Randy mumbled into Gale’s chest. Randy blamed his blurry vision on exhaustion as he tightly hugged Gale one last time before climbing into the taxi. They’d decided to say farewell at their bungalow hideaway since they weren’t quite ready for any of their fans to espy them at the airport and start speculating about a possible relationship. Randy and Gale much preferred to spread the news themselves via their network of friends.

 

As the taxi pulled away, Randy rolled down his window and called out, “By the way you’re going to be the extra-special guest of honor at the Skivvies’ meet and greet with the fans on the 22nd of December.”

 

“What?!” Gale yelled after the departing vehicle. That little shit, he fumed to himself. He was so irritated that it didn’t dawn on him until he boarded the plane later that same day that Randy had cleverly distracted him from dwelling on the impending revelation to their friends and the eventual fallout with their fans.

 

 

Randy beamed at the screen of his phone on Wednesday morning as he climbed into the taxi in Tempe for a ride to the local NBC station. He’d messaged Makyla the day before from the airport in Barcelona, joking that he and Gale were finally coming out together. Her response to both of them read, “I’m squeeing and jumping up and down, while the baby goggles at me like mom has gone crazy. It’s high time that the two of you found your way out of the closet. LOL. Be forewarned, your QaF family is organizing a big reunion when ‘Cabaret’ hits Toronto in February. We’re going to paint this town red! And the two of your are going to dance together once more at Fly/Babylon!”

 

Randy punched a fist into the air and shouted, “Yes!” causing the taxi driver to cast a concerned look at the giggling maniac in the backseat. Shit, the middle-aged, balding man thought to himself, the kid looked all of twenty years old and probably wasn’t of legal drinking age. He was relieved to let his passenger off in front of the NBC affiliate. His wife wouldn’t have forgiven him if something happened to him and they couldn’t make it to that night’s performance of ‘Cabaret’. Apparently, Randy Harrison was some kind of hot shit star. She’d raved on and on about the show ‘Queer as Folk’ and how he should take lessons from Brian and Justin in pleasing one’s partner. Naturally, he’d long ago tuned her out . . .

 

 

That afternoon as he lounged by the pool, sipping his third shot of Beam, Gale checked the latest Instagram posts. He’d been in a glum mood since arriving in Los Angeles the previous afternoon. Two months until he’d see Randy again - just too damned long. “Fucking boring posts,” he grumbled, pressing the icon to turn off his phone just as a startlingly familiar photo popped up. He fumbled with the phone, dropping it onto the cement before finally managing to turn it back on and open Instagram again. 

 

Holy shit! Randy had posted a cropped photo of them taken by a local who’d been out walking her dog when he and Randy were ambling along the beach in Spain. Gale’s piss-poor mood evaporated as he read the short post beneath the photo - Relationship update: partnered. Another photo of their footprints merging as they approached the water followed the status update.

  
  


Was that ever going to tantalize their fans! They’d be scrambling to figure out who was in the photo with Randy and posting like mad on Facebook, Twitter, and other social media sites. Don’t fash yourselves, he thought as a broad grin spread across his face. You’ll hear all about ‘Gandy’ soon enough.

 

Gale relaxed, convinced that he and Randy would work it out. They’d examine their schedules and figure out when they could get together. The rest of the time, they’d Skype and text each other. Down and dirty phone sex would be on the agenda every day. Everything was going to be . . . better than okay.

 

Leaning back in the lounge chair, Gale whistled  [ Walking on Sunshine ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GV2NWwgVZzw) , relishing the late summer sun kissing his body.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Please go to Kinnetik Dreams, www.kinnetikdreams.com, to view all the story graphics and clickable links.
> 
> A huge shout out to bibiherz for giving me permission to link to one of the videos of Randy Harrison that she created! That video, set to ‘Walking on Sunshine’ from Katrina and the Waves, really suits this one-shot story. Watch and enjoy! 
> 
> It took me much longer than I expected to write this concluding one-shot. No time estimates from now on; then maybe real life won’t jinx my plans. LOL. I hope it was worth the wait and that you enjoyed reading. Did you recognize the blue-haired lady? Leave me a comment and let me know. Yes, I’m shamelessly soliciting feedback. :)
> 
> If you’ve been entertained by my RPS stories, you may like ‘I’d Rather Burn in Hell’, a completed, six-chapter fic I’ll begin posting in the new year.


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